


Sole Baring

by cinereous



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Domestic, Feet worship, Foot Jobs, M/M, Oral Sex, Post-Canon, Slice of Life, Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-22
Updated: 2019-09-22
Packaged: 2020-10-14 22:29:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20608367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cinereous/pseuds/cinereous
Summary: Akira wakes to the sensation of Yusuke painting his feet. It's just another morning in his strange and wonderful life.





	Sole Baring

**Author's Note:**

  * For [foxjar](https://archiveofourown.org/users/foxjar/gifts).

When he woke, Yusuke was painting his feet.  
  
The fluttering, tickling sensation of bristles and the cold wetness of paint felt infinitely strange in his semi-conscious state. At the same time, it felt so familiar and beloved. It itched and crackled along the tops where some finished art was already dried and fading just like his dreams.  
  
"Mnngh, what time is it?" Akira rumbled, poorly hiding a yawn behind his hand and doing his best to sit up on his elbows when his body wanted nothing more than to stay prone.  
  
The window above their bed cast a muzzy lavender glow over the room, proving the answer to his question was quite obviously 'too early'. Akira scrubbed his fingers through his curls and shifted enough to get a better look at Yusuke's bowed head where he was situated closer to the foot of the bed and hunched over his feet.  
  
His hair was practically black in the shadow. When he moved to slide his hand into the fine, beautiful strands, they dripped and slid around his fingers like water. The easy warmth of his hair never ceased to be comforting to him. He was as warm as a sun drenched pond, but with the depths of an ocean. In this faint darkness, it was hard to suss out how close to the surface Yusuke was today.  
  
Akira bit his lip, his fingers idly tracing along the delicate shell of Yusuke's ear. The man did not seem willing to show he was aware of him yet, painting away and completely distracted. Akira might feel miffed if he were not already so used to it. He was well aware of how genuine his ignorance was when he was working. Still, it did not stop Akira from pushing forward anyway. "Was it nightmares again?"  
  
His voice sounded croaky and thick from sleep. He had worked at Crossroads the night before, arriving home unreasonably late to Yusuke already starfished out on the bed. Just remembering how peaceful he’d looked made his body feel weighed down by invisible sandbags that begged him to lie back down. Unfortunately, now was not the time. Yusuke was far more important than an extra hour in bed.  
  
The fact that his lover was awake in the dark, straining his eyes to paint by murky sunrise, meant something was not right in his world. Inspiration or unhappiness could be equally cruel to Yusuke, and Akira has picked up the pieces from both over the years.  
  
It felt like it took ages, but eventually the man looked up from where he was painting intricate, web-like designs into his instep. For all that it was beautiful, it was worrisome. Yusuke's work had a habit of becoming more detailed when he was stressed. Some people bit their nails, some smoked; the blue haired man painted delicate scales, feathers, leaves, and every star in the night sky until his fingers ached.  
  
His nod in response was a comfort. Akira watched with thinly veiled pleasure as Yusuke tossed his head in the distractingly elegant way he did everything. His hair flew in a gorgeous sapphire wave, catching the meager light just as easily as it caught Akira's eyes like an ever-searching magpie.  
  
Yusuke had been growing his hair out since graduation, and it now dripped in stunning waterfalls down his neck and shoulders. For all that it looked and moved like water, it was surprisingly stubborn. It spilled messily out of whatever knot or holder he tried to tame it with time and time again.  
  
Even now, there was a haphazard banana clip keeping a small portion of it swirled atop his crown, but all the rest had made a valiant effort for freedom in his distraction. Akira loved the look on him desperately. Beauty that was chaotic, but poised nonetheless, was how he would always describe him.  
  
With his gaze now meeting his own he could see that Yusuke’s eyes were tired, far darker than normal in the dim light. The manic glint of creation was still there, pairing with whatever this thinly veiled anxiety was that made the lines deepen between his brows.  
  
That, at least, Akira could not ignore. He leaned over and pressed his sleep warm lips to the tender spot between his eyes in the hope of soothing away that crease. On contact, Yusuke's tension seemed to melt. His shoulders fell into dramatic relaxation, and a stone heavy sigh of relief rushed free of his chest where he had obviously been holding it. Akira had never felt more helpful in his life. It felt insurmountably good to know that, even now, he could thaw whatever icy mood Yusuke had fallen into.  
  
"Do you want to talk about it?" he questioned on a whisper, leaning only far enough back to catch Yusuke's eyes once again. The lines were gone, kissed away as easily as leaves on the wind.  
  
His frail shoulders tilted upwards in an almost imperceptible shrug, but Yusuke leaned over to swish his brush into a cup of water. The mug still makes him smile. He had found it on a table during a festival and had bought it instantly. Even in the dark, he could make out "PAINT WATER" emblazoned across the front in huge font. There had been a few incidents involving coffee cups at his workstation to warrant it.  
  
The cleaning of his brush signaled the end of his feet painting at the very least, and Akira could not resist leaning forward a second time to kiss him on the lips instead.  
  
"You don't have to,” he reassured him, not wanting to pressure him into talking if he truly didn’t want to. “How long have you been up? You should eat.” It was far too easy to fall into his mother hen sensibilities where his lover was concerned.  
  
As if hearing their conversation, Yusuke's stomach gave a cranky grumble which led Akira to believe that he'd been up for at least a good hour.  
  
The blue haired man nodded and moved to his feet, all long arms and legs. Akira still couldn’t believe how much he had shot up. The boy had been tall when they met, but now he was a tower of willowy grace and soft angles. Akira had grown as well, but he was resigned to being the shorter of the two for the rest of his days.  
  
In the blue light, he seemed almost unreal, the subject of one of his paintings -- though the popping of his knees humanized him quite easily.  
  
"A meal would be most agreeable. Part of my dream involved a sunrise the color of butter. I admit to craving eggs benedict after seeing it."  
  
Akira fell into a chuckle so light and carefree that it felt as easy as breathing. There was nothing more enjoyable than listening to Yusuke talk about his dreams in the quixotic and almost prophetic way he had.  
  
"I can absolutely do that," he assured the man, lazily fighting his way free of the blankets until he could stand, his mostly dry feet crinkling on the tarp thrown across their floor like a bizarre plastic carpet.  
  
They had put it down several months ago while Yusuke worked on a larger, messier project and had simply never put it away again. It seemed useless to do so when Yusuke often fell into painting at odd hours without forethought to put down the necessary protection. Akira well remembered going to visit Yusuke's old room in Madarame's house where paint splattered the floorboards.  
  
His bare feet stuck a bit on the plastic as he walked. The hems of his pajama pants were no doubt getting paint on them, but they already had ring of stains and dried paint that had proved impossible to remove in the wash.  
  
Akira felt like committing to Yusuke was committing to the mess of paint and ink and glue. It was a life of chaos and brilliance where he was the tempering tool to keep him grounded. Just like this place.  
  
The stairs squeaked under his painted feet, familiar as it was irritating. The sound was something he had missed. Leblanc was his home. Yusuke had admitted to him on a few occasions that it had been the closest thing to home for him as well when they were younger.  
  
Futaba now off in school had left Sojiro with an empty nest and a restlessness he had never felt before in his old age. He had put the cafe on the market with the hope to travel. A week later Akira had convinced the man to give ownership to him instead.  
  
Akira had only been twenty-one at the time. Serving coffee and curry was not glamorous or exciting. It held no candle to being a phantom thief, but it was better than the bar. He still picked up a shift or two at Crossroads when Lala needed the help, but running his own business felt empowering and right in a way Akira could never hope to explain.  
  
It also meant a home to share with Yusuke, who had similarly been adrift once school was behind them. Yusuke had attempted to go to university, but had begun to fall into old habits almost immediately upon living alone.  
  
Akira had visited his apartment during that time to find it barren of all furniture, empty of food, and, somehow, also without cold water. It had made the opportunity to run Leblanc all the sweeter.  
  
The cafe was now theirs, along with the beloved attic. The few available walls all had artwork now, and every mug had been painted lovingly by Yusuke's hand. It had, funnily enough, brought in more customers. While Leblanc was still a hole-in-the-wall that served a strange combination of food, it was now also a mini-gallery. And if Akira happened to use some of his bartending tricks to liven up the coffee shop atmosphere, well, it likely didn't hurt matters.  
  
The cafe wouldn't open for another two hours thankfully, and Akira padded sleepily through the blue drenched lower floor on autopilot. He'd walked through it in the dark a million times, enough to flip the switch without looking.  
  
This morning, however, felt only domestic and comfortable. He slipped behind the counter, flipping the switch to light up the simple hanging lights over the bar. They had done small renovations when they had the money, and the deep crimson pendant lights still made Akira give a soft smile each time he turned them on.  
  
He began to make breakfast, waking up with each minute he moved and worked with his hands. The act of toasting bread and whisking together hollandaise woke him just as effectively as the smell of frying bacon and the coffee percolating nearby.  
  
Soon enough, he had plates loaded and placed on the counter just in time. Yusuke slipped downstairs with his long hair wet from a shower. Beads of water dripped down his bony shoulders and in eye-catching rivulets along pale chest. His pajama bottoms rode low, clinging desperately to the sharp angles of his hips. Akira bit his lip helplessly and placed a cup of coffee by Yusuke's plate with just a bit too much force in his flustered state.  
  
The hand that reached for it was all long, tapered fingers and smudges of heavily faded ink. The paint was gone, though Akira spied some lingering beneath his fingernails. It would be a cold day in hell when Akira looked upon Yusuke and saw no art supplies on his body somewhere.  
  
The heat in his chest fluttered and clawed at him, distracting him even from his own coffee. He stared at Yusuke who delicately picked up his mug and took a sip, eyes fluttering shut in what he could only describe as rapture. He loved him so very much. Some moments struck him harder than others, like this one.  
  
Love was color stained fingers curled beautifully around a ceramic handle. Love was long eyelashes brushing sharp cheekbones. Love was making sure Yusuke ate, posing for him anytime he asked, sex on the creaking hard wood floor and getting paint in his hair more often than making love in their bed.  
  
His adult life had turned out so different from what he had expected for himself at sixteen, back when he was still languishing in his small hometown.  
  
It was better.  
  
"Mmm, I will never tire of your coffee. This is the...Kenyan?"  
  
Yusuke's question brought a smile to Akira's face. He leaned forward to rest an elbow on the counter and munch on a strip of bacon while he watched the other man eat like a creep. "It is. I'll make a coffee snob out of you yet. I felt like something bright this morning."  
  
"Indeed!" Yusuke answered with excitement spilling over into the thunderstorm color of his eyes. Akira could practically taste the crackle of lightning in the air when his moods shifted to this pure joy. "It tastes like sharp sunrise. You know what I need too well, Akira."  
  
He went quiet again, eating with good manners but wolfish enthusiasm. Akira was sure Yusuke has never met a dish he did not like. Together they ate in mostly silence, save for Yusuke's occasional sound of glee or the odd question or two.  
  
When the food was gone, Akira gathered their dishes to wash, admiring, as always, the way Yusuke could never leave a canvas empty and white, but always left his plate glistening and clean. The warm, soapy water was a comfort to him, reminding him of his short time here when he was in school. The only thing missing was the rustle of Sojiro’s newspaper and the low burble of the news station talking about the Phantom Thieves.  
  
Now he had the sound of Yusuke humming ever so softly, nursing his coffee and looking into space at whatever beautiful things existed in his vision alone. It was as he was drying his hands that Yusuke spoke again.  
  
"Allow me to wash your feet. I’m sure they’re growing uncomfortable."  
  
The itch of his feet from the dried paint seemed to flare up with a vengeance. Akira snorted in amusement and nodded his head, tossing the hand towel onto the edge of the sink with perfect aim. "If you're offering, I would be grateful. It's always a shame to wash away your work, though."  
  
"There will be more early mornings where I need to paint my dreams, and you never sleep with your feet under the blankets. I can't ignore such a..._pleasant_ canvas."  
  
Somehow, Yusuke did not cause the stairs to squeak when he ascended. It made Akira feel rather clunky and heavy at his back as he squeaked and creaked his way up behind him. Morning was well underway now, bathing the attic in pretty golds and pinks, dust motes winking through the air like glitter.  
  
The attic had been grim and dirty during school, covered in cobwebs and dust. It was amazing what some free reign could grant you. All the junk had been moved out or sold, and together they had scrubbed and polished and painted every surface until it was as close to an oasis as they could make it.  
  
The old and odd smelling olive colored sofa was long gone, and Yusuke pointedly pressed him down on the black futon they had replaced it with. Akira sat back and watched the man go about collecting the bucket and filling it with water downstairs. It felt odd to sit and not be industrious. Akira was so used to being up and moving, taking care of problems. It felt wrong to relax, but fortunately, Yusuke was quick in his return.  
  
With little ceremony, Akira's feet were lifted and plunked into the bucket with a splash, soaking his pajama bottoms in seconds. Hilarity filled him instantly. Akira fell into uncharacteristic giggles, leaning forward to start rucking up his pants until they were bunched damply around his knees.  
  
"My apologies. I was a little overenthusiastic," Yusuke said with a smirk, moving more gently now to pry out one of his feet and begin to scrub away the dried and cracked paint with a washcloth. Akira had not been prepared for just how nice it would feel, especially after being on his feet all night at the bar. He melted almost the exact moment his soft fingers touched along his skin.  
  
He shivered and relaxed into the cushions, feeling very much like a pat of butter on top of toast, slowly losing his shape and becoming a delicious puddle under Yusuke's expert hands.  
  
"Mmph, that feels so good. I didn't realize how much they ached until just now. You work magic."  
  
He was not afforded a reply beyond the deepening pressure of Yusuke's thumbs digging into the sole of his foot. His bones liquefied, and his spine buckled. A glance down proved that the paint was gone at least. It would appear that he was simply _spoiling_ him now.  
  
Akira wanted to protest. He didn't need it and likely they should think about going to start the opening of the cafe...but Yusuke moving to grab his other foot and starting to clean and massage it had him snapping his mouth shut in record speed.  
  
The soft tinkle of water and the gentle sound of the cloth filled the silence, oddly melodic to his overwhelmed mind. Everything together unwound him like so much rope until he finally allowed his head to fall to the back of the sofa. The cloth plopped into the bucket, signalling the end of the cleaning, but Yusuke’s soft fingers kept moving.  
  
There was surprising strength in his fingers. He could feel it as he pressed them into the sore spots with subtle steel. The dull ache in his heels bled away easily until only pure comfort remained.  
  
He was about to pour more compliments down on Yusuke's head, but suddenly wet heat engulfed his toes.  
  
A truly undignified squawk left Akira. He jerked up from his relaxed sprawl in an instant, looking down to see Yusuke on his knees, his gorgeous fingers clutching at his foot and his mouth wrapped around his toes in mimicry of other, more filthy activities.  
  
The sight had his stomach lurching hard with sudden heat, made all the worse to feel the scrape of teeth along the fleshy underside.  
  
"Yusuke, wh-" he began, but the words dried up in his mouth. He watched the man ease backwards just an inch before swirling his tongue in indecent patterns along the ball of his foot. It felt like he was trying to recreate the now cleaned away painting.  
  
The feeling of his tongue was much like his fingers; slick and exquisite with an undercurrent of strength that allowed him to dig into sore muscle and coax soft gasps and moans from his throat thoroughly without his permission. To say nothing of the heat of it, burning into skin that so rarely received attention.  
  
More and more light filled the attic, burning Yusuke's hair into brilliant blue fire. The look on his face was nothing short of pleasure. Akira could not believe that Yusuke was so obviously enjoying himself doing something as strange as coursing his tongue along his instep and up to flicker between his toes.  
  
It tickled and teased, sent spikes of lust dancing up his legs and straight to his groin that left him utterly shaken. Fuck. Sweet, weird, adventurous Yusuke. That same rush of love and affection from breakfast gripped him once again in a giddy chokehold.  
  
"I find your feet to be the most beautiful I have ever seen on a man. Did you know? Whole pages of my sketchbook are dedicated to them," Yusuke whispered, letting each word press into the underside of his foot, his humid breath slithering all along the delicate skin there. "I would have you barefoot always so that I could admire them, but I know coffee and bare feet may be unwise."  
  
His chuckle that filled the room was just as deep and sensually warm as the cup of coffee he alluded to. It made Akira blush, toes curling. The hot wetness of Yusuke's tongue sliding all along and underneath that curl made him almost squeal, but the sound that left him was a confused and desperate groan.  
  
"Y-you should have something sooner," he replied weakly, earning a second gut churning laugh from his lover and a long, cat-like stripe of his tongue from his heel all the way up to his toes like he were an ice cream. It sent shockwaves of want spiraling down his back strong enough the air was stolen from his chest.  
  
He could not believe how much this was driving him crazy. He never knew he had a foot thing. Perhaps he didn't. Being the object of Yusuke's desires was the sexiest thing Akira could ever imagine.  
  
That was exactly where he was in this moment: the center of Yusuke's world.  
  
The blush on his face spread down his neck like spilled wine at the sensation of Yusuke beginning to plant damp, plush kisses all along the top of his foot, pausing at the implications of veins and bone to dole out yet more attention to these places.  
  
Unbidden, images popped into his mind of the dates he had shared with Yusuke spent walking around art museums. He could remember the gorgeous white marble statues. They were some of his favorites for how aesthetic they looked, bold and bleached and always kept in the center of the room to allow for space to walk around them in slow, considering circles.  
  
He remembered the awe he felt at the details these artists could create out of stone. The folds of clothing, the indent of flesh where hands squeezed against thighs, the precise fall of strands of hair...and the veins in the hands and feet. That had been the true sign of talent and mastery to him.  
  
Akira could not help but wonder if that was how Yusuke felt in this moment, his lips and his tongue reverently tracing the most subtle human details of him.  
  
When that amazing pressure and dampness disappeared, Akira could not stop the groan of displeasure that left him on instinct. Yusuke was not done with him thankfully. He loomed up, hands moving to slowly peel his pajama pants down his hips with those same deceptively strong hands that had breathed new life and pleasure straight into his bones just moments before.  
  
It was obvious what Yusuke had in mind. Eager excitement flooded him, and Akira rushed to situate himself, helping to scoot the bucket out of the way. The very instant his path was clear, Yusuke leaned down over his lap. The lips that had sweetly paid homage to his feet now caressed molten hot along his cock, painting him with broad, sordid strokes.  
  
"Nngh, _definitely_ should have told me sooner. Fuck, your _mouth_," he babbled, squirming against the futon and luxuriously rolling his hips up into the waiting hot cavern. They have been together romantically for almost three years now, but he hoped desperately that this spark of want and attraction stayed as strong as it was now.  
  
He was about to ask what Yusuke wanted when a hand wrapped around his ankle with lovely pressure. The squeeze against the sharp bones there made him writhe. Fuck, maybe he had gotten a foot thing after today.  
  
Yusuke pointedly moved his foot, planting it almost harshly over the front of his pajama bottoms where Akira could already feel the shape of him against the ball of his foot. The wetness from his foot bath soaked through the fabric on contact, and lust slammed into him with the force of a semi-truck.  
  
There was something infinitely sexy about hearing as much as feeling Yusuke moan. The vibration of it rumbled against his arousal, sending a cascade of sparks and flames racing to short circuit his brain. His lover scooted further forward for a better angle, forcing Akira’s foot harder up against him.  
  
It felt so strange. With a crazy inhale to help clear his fogged over mind, he began to slowly press his foot against the outline of Yusuke's cock. He massaged and curiously curled his toes, feeling him out and trying to figure out what made the man react the most favorably. Every buck and gasp and moan was a gift to Akira when he felt so out of his element.  
  
Yusuke was not to be distracted, however. He bobbed his head with grace, turning the indelicate act of giving head into something beautiful. Those eyelashes he had admired earlier trembled prettily with every concentrated slide downward, and the heavy steam of his breath caressed against his navel each time he slid back up in a scorching hot goodbye.  
  
Akira helplessly carded both of his fingers through Yusuke's damp hair. It was growing fuzzy from air drying, puffing a bit in places adorably, but it did not take away even an ounce of the sexiness he exuded.  
  
Chilled fingertips alighted along his foot once again caused Akira's heart to leap into his throat as if anticipating yet more delectable massaging. Yusuke's intention became clear a moment later. He tugged at the band of his own pajama bottoms until he sprang free. The sensation of unimaginably hot flesh against the ball of his foot and the even more sensitive underside of his toes made his own arousal pulse harshly in time with his heart beat.  
  
He didn't hesitate. Akira dug his foot against him, massaging and gently grinding the length of him against his stomach. Now, instead of the clingy fabric, his foot slid along his skin, slick from water and precum. He could feel out the shape of the furled tip and the odd sensation of the slit same as he would with his fingers.  
  
It was heavy and not at all graceful or precise like his hands would be, but that clumsiness seemed to goad Yusuke's moans further. The heavier pressure and the miscalculated slips of his foot made him jolt and quiver in the most fantastic way.  
  
All the while, Yusuke never stopped his own attention. Akira felt pulled taut, held by a thread after their cozy breakfast and then the heady, single minded ministration. His fingers fisted in Yusuke's hair, and his toes curled so tight and hard he was sure he was hurting the man as his orgasm overwhelmed him.  
  
Akira sobbed his pleasure to the silence, back arching dramatically off of the sofa and his free foot wrapping around Yusuke's shoulders to jerk him forward into the embrace of his convulsing body. Wave after wave of pleasure slammed into his body, shoving and clamoring into unknown corners and edges until he felt filled to the brim with nothing but fireworks.  
  
Exhaustion burst into life in its wake, injecting lead into his bones. Akira sank back down into the cushions with slow and almost bewildered relaxation, heavy and useless as a stone.  
  
"F-fuck. _Yusuke_-..." he started, too tired to even lift his head, but the telltale hot and wet sensation slowly trickling down his toes lets him know that he need not worry if he had found a similar blissful end.  
  
Together they spent a long moment catching their breath. Only once he felt less like he may never move again, Akira eased his eyes open. Yusuke was still there on his knees, hunched over with his face pillowed against his thigh. He looked to be asleep for all the softness to his face, and Akira could not resist pressing a lock of tangled hair away from his face. Even in his tiredness something nudged at his memory.  
  
"Oh. Your dream...Yusuke what was it about?" he asked, voice very soft and gently begging. Yusuke has had no one in his life to care about his dreams, and it smarted every time he avoided even the creature comfort Akira could offer if he would only wake him up and ask. It was a hurdle they were still climbing over together.  
  
Yusuke's silence went on for a silent eternity until at last he began to speak, his eyes still closed and his face still pressed into his leg.  
  
"It was dawn. Beautiful and yellow and warm, but when I opened my eyes and sat up, you were not in the bed. There were no sounds of people outside the window. The attic was covered in dust. I went outside to find the street was empty. Even though the sky was clear, it began to rain. It rained paint. It got into my eyes and my mouth. I heard your voice suddenly, but I couldn’t see anything anymore. Then I woke up."  
  
Akira could not find words at first. The dream reminded him too heavily of the day he and the rest of the Phantom Thieves disappeared in a red rain. It still stood out in his mind as the scariest day of his life.  
  
For that reason, he did not offer any false words of comfort. He pulled Yusuke up onto the sofa with him, all awkwardly long limbs and hair long enough to snag no matter how they moved. He pushed Yusuke's head up under his chin and simply held him close while they listened, straining their ears.  
  
There was the whine of silence, but there was also the sound of a little girl laughing outside, the far off drum of traffic, a cell phone ringtone. The world was alive and moving just outside their window.  
  
And both of their hearts beat, and their breath mingled oh-so-softly in the quiet air. Finally, Yusuke lifted his head, his hair an absolute mess and a smile lingering around his lips.  
  
"That was a very good distraction from your delectable feet. I am on to you, however. Go have your shower. I will go start chopping vegetables for the curry. Hopefully you can't distract me from a wholly different room."  
  
His smirk was gorgeous and dramatic, and Akira felt a small part of him fall ever so slightly more in love with him.  
  
"Please. I'm distracting in any room. It's a gift."  
  
They each got up to go about their separate tasks. The tarp on the floor crinkled merrily under their feet, sticking to his and reminding him of the deplorable activities he'd just used it for. Yusuke was silent on the stairs like always, but a moment later he could hear the banging of pots and cutlery downstairs. Every fiber of his being felt relaxed and charmed and pleased.  
  
They had found a home here. Weird, chaotic, perfect home.  



End file.
